She speaks of Ankara
and its hidden quarters
its faded empire eyes
of the disdained glances
and silent dances
winding alleyways of sky
She says Ankara
to the gold cupolas
the angled shadowed ruins
to its turned faces
and half-kept graces
spilling slivered runes
She sings of Ankara
in spent cadenzas
that linger in last light
of rusting spires
and wind wrung wires
scattering songs of night
She sighs Ankara
past the empty courtyards
where the blossoms quarrel with stone
mid the cackling leaves
in the hollow eaves
that cry for flesh and bone.